


ENCOM Galla (goes about as well as you’d expect)

by CyberSearcher



Category: Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types
Genre: AlanisDONE, Gen, Minor Angst, QuorraisQuorra, SamisDone, TronisWholesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-20 21:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21063275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyberSearcher/pseuds/CyberSearcher
Summary: After a week of brief preperarion, Sam, Quorra, Alan and Tron band together for the Program and ISO’s first major high class gathering. Given the nature of the company, his Program and his strong distaste for near everyone within ENCOM, Alan doesn’t have High Hopes.





	ENCOM Galla (goes about as well as you’d expect)

**Author's Note:**

> _Says they’ll be a new oneshot comming out soon_
> 
> **  
_proceeds to disappear like Peter Parker post Snappening_  
**
> 
> I... yep. Yeaaaaaa. Well, here’s a two shot for you all since I couldn’t contain the plot bunnies for this long.

After a heavy amount of debate from both Users - “Sam, you know it's ridiculous-“ “Why can’t I drive on the bike? Seriously? Why not?” - both he, Tron and Quorra were offered to be driven to the venue by Alan. The trio of ISO, Program and User had claimed seperate rooms for each of them to change into Gala attire. 

“Tron?” Sam called out. He judged that the User was already finished dressing and was waiting on the bottom floor, presumably alongside Quorra. “You okay? Need some help with the makeup?” 

The Program leaned in front of the mirror, eyes furrowed in concentration and two fingers smudged with concealer as he scanned his cheek for any sighs of his scars. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine.” 

“Alright big guy, we’ll be waiting outside for ya. Alan’s gonna be here in about twenty.” 

The fine black squares had taken more effort to hide than he’d hoped, but he’d made acceptable progress. Figuring out how to use the odd spiked contraption - comb - was a painful trial and error process. He still wasn’t sure if he was at the optimal standard for a User gathering. Taking a deep breath - an odd comfort in this strange world - Tron tucked away the bottle and washed of the remnants. 

Nodding to his reflection, he unlocked the door. 

He came out from the short hallway that connected Sam’s bathroom to his bedroom and began to carefully descend the ladder, making sure not to let the material catch or snag. Leaning down to give Marv one last round of petting, the Boston Terrier sniffed at his gala attire then sat with his tongue lolling out in a happy doggy grin. 

Even if Tron still doesn’t quite understand the dogs language, he guessed that at least he had his approval. Pushing open the side door, Tron smiled when the cool noon breeze carted through his hair. He spared a moment to just stare up at the twilight sky, trying to compile all the colours. So far, he’d found almost two-hundred and twenty five different shades of orange alone, three-hundred and five blends of violet and a hundred and one hues of blue.

The Program needed to ask Alan one of these days about exactly how many colours the User sky could turn. He was almost certain that the combinations were infinite. 

“Tron! You’re - you’re… oh. Oh wow.” 

He blinked once, then turned to face Sam. His expression was thoroughly stunned, jaw hanging not unlike Marv. It would’ve been a funny parallel, if the Users staring wasn’t so blatant. He swallowed again, his hand fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves. 

“Uh, s-sorry.” Sam rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry, I just… didn’t expect you in a… dress.”

“I’m sorry.” His automatic response came out before he could reign it in. But in this case, it felt appropriate. “Is this not approved User attire? I could change in ten minutes, or is there some sort of code that I’m required to-” 

“No, no, it - it’s not like that, I swear.” Tron’s growing concern soon shifted into confusion. Sam raised a hand to try and cover a growing red flush across his cheeks. He wasn’t sure if it was the fifty-seven shades of pink of the sky or if the User was contracting some sort of virus. “You just… you look _really_ good in that.”

The Program cocked his head. “I do?”

“Yea, really.” Sam insisted.

When he found the long, pale cream coloured dress in the Program and ISO’s bags after their mall trip, Sam hadn’t though much of it. He did entertain the idea of Quorra wearing it and it didn’t seem half bad. But Tron had no right looking as good as he did in this instance. 

It was long enough that it’s hem brushed against the ground, but high enough that it didn’t drag. The collar and cuffs were short, making Tron look oddly petite despite his musculature. The cream shade of the fabric made the Program's skin look warm and the circuits hidden underneath shone through giving him a soothing aura of light. Sam couldn’t help but think of an incandescent light bulb. 

“Some other Users did give us funny looks.” Quorra commented. “Is that normal?”

The blonde just shrugged. “Don’t ask me about stuff like that.” 

Sam didn’t want to dive into the subject, hoping to keep the night light hearted and lively. Soon, they all saw the paired lights of Alan’s car appear across the street, slowing and then stopping along the adjacent streets.

“Good to see you’re wearing something proper.” He says with a small smirk, stepping out of the car. Looking over them, Tron felt his fingers twitch with his Users eyes on him. “You look great, c’mon, you can have the front seat.” 

It takes the security program an embarrassingly long moment in his eyes to realize he’s the one being addressed. Both Sam and Quorra already closing the doors beside them as Tron steps inside. He realizes there’s an odd scent to the car, if he’s not mistaken it’s called ‘coffee’. Glancing to Alan, he wonders if the detail is worth notifying. He decided against it, deeming his Users attention is better spent focusing on the roads. 

Leaving Sam’s little riverside home, Tron can’t help but lean slightly towards the windows. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the ISO doing the same. They both see the lines of streetlamps and dotted windows in the distance. And once they’re within the city proper Tron can almost see himself back on the Grid. 

“This world is beautiful.” Quorra says, speaking his own thoughts. “Sam, what else is there in the city? What’s it like?” 

“Nothing to crazy. It’s got some restaurants, a movie theatre and I know there’s a library somewhere. Oh, the pier! I’ve got to take you guys there, if you think the city looks good at night you’ve gotta see their ferris wheel.”

As they talk, Tron watches Alan as he slows and turns carefully towards the entrance of an ornate building. He’s not at all familiar with User architecture but he isn’t blind. The Program marvels at the details he can see even in the darkness of night. Tron suddenly understands why Kevin always came off as eccentric when it came to building designs. 

“All off, kids.” Alan turns in his seat, abruptly cutting Quorra and Sam’s conversation. 

Tron sees how the younger User physically deflates. “Damn, we’re here already. Sorry Q.” 

They exit and thankfully there’s nobody outside to witness Tron and the subtle, almost ghostly pale blue glow his dress doesn’t completely hide. Stepping into the lobby, it’s decorations fairly remind Tron of the Grid. He thinks Sam described it as modern. 

“Ah, Mr. Flynn, Mr. Bradley and,“ The receptionist leans further forward and squints at the names hidden behind the desk, Tron pulls at his fingers and waits impatiently, “Mr. Bradley’s son and… “Miss Quorra?” 

The ISO nods and smiles, even if the woman sitting down doesn’t see them. Tron’s glad she isn’t too attentive, but it also irritates the parts of him that never stop being a security monitor. Having taken his Users surname fills him with an even odder feeling. It’s not guilt, or shame to his surprise. But something lighter, if Tron could describe it as such. 

“Yes, just down the hall. The room filled with all the neon. Shouldn’t be too hard to miss.” She says.

“Thank you.” Alan says, seeing how Sam has already chased Quorra down the directed hallway. “Enjoy your evening miss.”

Tron follows his User in a much more sedate nature. Quorra eagerly skips down the hall, peeking her head inside every open doorway and waving at however stands inside. “She’s probably the only one enjoying herself.” Alan comments with myrrh.

Tron tilts his head. “You aren’t?” He’s both impressed and embarrassed that he hadn’t noticed his Users real mood. 

Alan hides his dry amusement well. “No, never really saw the point. I understand them well enough, Sam does too. He just tries harder to evade them than me.” 

“Where would you rather be then?” Tron asks. “If not here?” 

“Probably working on getting the board under control.” Alan says, this time his program isn’t surprised. “But if not that… I’m not entirely sure. Maybe reading. Something cozy at the very least. Instead of playing nice in this monkey suit.” 

Tron couldn’t help but stare at his Users crass language. It was a rare occurance to hear that side of Alan-One, even rarer to hear it out in public. He couldn’t help but smile. 

Once they’d made it to the main ballroom, both ISO and Program felt like they’d stepped back into one of the many bars within the Grid. The black lights and neon banners across the walls, patterns of light illuminating the floors and the steady thrum of music. It’s only the dress of the Users who stand and talk that distinguishes this as not their world. 

Both Sam and Alan decide not to comment and once the two have broken their trance, they walk side by side with the Users as they mingle. Despite their massive range in terms of their social skills, they know it’s best to stay by their side. Even if Quorra can’t help but become invested in every other conversation.

“I know it’s probably rude to ask, but who did the colour coding for this event?” She says to a pair of workers behind a mixer stand. “They don’t have very good tastes. But quadruple zero and double ‘f’ doesn’t blend well when set against eight double ‘e’ zero. The walls aren’t a good shade either. Maybe triple three one?”

Even Sam stares at her. “Quorra, what are you talking about?”

“Oh, I was just sharing ideas for different colour codes that would be more aesthetically pleasing. I don’t know the actual names and you just call everything ‘blue’ or ‘green’ so I thought giving the code itself would be better.” She smiles.

“Uh, we’ll… write those down.” One of the workers hesitantly says. 

“How do you even know stuff like that?” Sam asks, both impressed and ever so slightly embarrassed. 

Quorra shrugs. “It’s just something I learned. It took me ten cycle just to settle on on colour for my quarters.” 

Sam reads into the context and doesn’t expect the whiplash that hits. “O-oh.” H stutters out. “That makes sense. Right, sorry.”

The ISO only smiles and Sam has to wonder again how she maintains her optimism. Glancing over his shoulder, she narrows in on another interesting thing and eagerly asks what it is. When Sam turns and sees her pointing at a large punch bowl. He only hopes it isn’t spiked. 

Alan keeps up most of the business conversations, making a deliberate effort to draw them to himself. Tron hovers beside him and if anyone’s noticed the fact that his program wears his face minus thirty or so years and a very attractive dress, they don’t see it. The security program keeps his head low, hi out of tu corner of his eyes he sees how Tron keeps glancing around nervously whenever someone new enters or a stranger brushes past. 

He’s in the middle of a semi-heated debate with one of the former board members as someone comes carrying a tray of champagne flutes. Tron sees how the woman behind the man facing Alan pull something from her purse, hovers it over a drink and finally pass it over. 

“It’s been a long night Alan.” The ex-board member sighs, taking another drink from the tray. “How about a toast, let’s not part on bad terms, shall we?”

Tron doesn’t hesitate to lash out and grab the man’s wrist. When the woman gives a panicked yell, he whips out his second hand and drags her back by her pearl necklace. Alan stands, alongside many of the others within the area, alerted to the commotion after the sound of the champagne glass shattering. 

“Cease and desist.” Tron glares down at them both. “Do not attempt to struggle, you will not break free.”

“Tron! What are you doing?” Alan cries, reaching to pull a hand away from his shoulder. 

“The female added some sort of foreign substance to your drink.” Tron relays coldly, his grip on the woman’s necklace is unforgiving. 

“Let me go tramp! Do you have any idea of what you’re accusing me of!” Attempting to pull away, Tron only kicks the man’s knees so he falls kneeling on the ground. He cries out but the security Program is unforgiving. Alan isn’t sure he imagines it, but he feels a low growling in the air. 

Alan doesn’t doubt his programs abilities and he certainly doesn’t see the former board member as someone above assassination. The setting is as good a place as any. But he begins to worry when he sees the cold, focused look in Tron’s eyes. He looks like he’s about to pop their hands out of their sockets. 

Sam and Quorra push their way through the growing circle of people. “Are you guys alright? What happened?” 

“Apparently, Mr Richards here didn’t take too kindly to being demoted.” Alan says evenly. “Sam, call security. Can you hold them until they arrive Tron?”

“Of course Alan-One.” The Program hoists both the man and women to their feet, both still cursing and pulling at his grip. 

“We should probably go outside.” Quorra mentions. “There are too many people here, if they got loose then we’d have a hard time finding them again.”

“Good plan.” Alan says. Hesitantly, he reaches for Tron’s arm. “C’mon, let’s go.” 

The Program only nods. He’s more concerned now than ever and he’s becoming genuinely worried the Program will leave bruises. He drags them out and into the main hallway. Both of them ignore their protests and make their way to the front. It takes until Tron steps out into the moonlight that he shakes off whatever took hold of him before. Even then, it’s a tense moment. 

Police cars are lined up block the front entrances and exits to the ballroom. Alan hovers over Sam’s shoulders as the younger man gives his testimony. Even Quorra's bubbliness has popped and she sits at the steps to the building, sober and grim. 

“Ma-sir? Excuse me?” One of the officer’s addresses Tron. “We’ll need to take the suspects into custody. And there are some questions we would like to ask.”

“It’s okay.” Alan steps up, knowing there’s no use asking him to speak. “Tron, it’s okay. I’m safe now.”


End file.
